Science and Hell
by DeChunk
Summary: Two immortal men share a grudge lasting centuries. Will one become the victor? Please review.
1. Just a Guy In a Bar

Science and Hell

By DeChunk

Based on characters created by Mary Shelly and Bram Stoker

An infinite conflict started with a single phrase: "Life is not yours to live."

It was said in a bar in Spain about one hundred and fifty years ago by a man to a monster. Or quite possibly a monster to a man. No one is to be sure if either of them were to be truly noble.

To flesh out the backdrop of this simple statement, we must go back a single day, to the arrival of a large man in the small town of Muertaro. It was a village of not more than two hundred people, including the farmhands that did not live there themselves. There was a peace in the town. Not an especially noticeable peace, but the kind of peace that is in all towns that are not overrun by thieves or Satan himself. A couple of the men cheated on their wives. There was a theft every once in a while. But it was never an especially exciting town. There was only one place to purchase alcohol, and it was a very small joint owned by a man who watered down most of it to jack up his prices. An ancient technique that was passed from scoundrel to scoundrel in hopes more money would be gained.

The large man, of whom I spoke of earlier, walked into this establishment and sat down at the bar. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat, a long olive green burlap coat, black gloves, large boots, and a pair of pants that were tattered at the ends. His face was hidden by the shadow of the hat, but one could already guess he wasn't the most attractive man on the face of creation. His hands were large, but not meaty, with fingers that were meant to be articulate and not scrunched up in a ball.

"I'll take a shot of vodka." The balding bartender looked at the man with a questioned expression. He repeated it again in fluid Spanish.

"Sorry, we don't serve Baltic ass-drippings here," the bartender replied.

"Fine, then I'll have an aguardiente," negotiated the man.

The bartender laughed. "I must warn you, it's strong enough to make you see purple."

"I've had that happen before. Now give me the drink."

The barkeep gave another laugh and proceeded to get out a red bottle that read "World Famous Father Rodriguez's Devil Spit" and poured a liberal shot into a glass.

"So, what brings you here?"

The large man gave the bartender a look and then downed his shot in a single gulp. He put the glass back down as if to want another.

"You got money for the one you just downed?"

The large man pulled out a golden token out of his pocket and slammed it down on the bar table.

"I don't got change for that."

"You won't need to," the man replied. "Just leave the bottle here." He poured another shot and downed it just like the last. The large man hesitated before he poured his third. "What else do you have?"

The bartender looked through the bottles behind him. "Few bottles of wine. A week old batch of zurracapote. Got some German beer from a trader recently."

The large man paused for a moment. "I'll take two bottles of the wine." He took out another token and slid it across the bar.

"You need a corkscrew?"

The large man used his thumb and popped the top off of the first bottle. "I'm good." The large man drank it straight from the bottle.

"Got a name?"

"Do you need it?"

"It would make me feel better taking strange pieces of gold from a man instead of a silhouette."

The large man took a pause. "Remendo."

"Remendo? Pretty strange name."

"I'm a pretty strange man." He took another swig of the wine.


	2. A Challenger Aproaches

After Remendo polished off the first bottle of wine and the day had turned to night, the bartender asked him the one question everyone asks a stranger in a bar. "What brings a man as wealthy as you into a small town like this?"

"Pit stop on my way to Gibraltar. From there, it's to Africa."

"And what's in Africa?"

Remendo paused to keep the barkeep on edge. "Wide open spaces and large dangerous animals."

"The adventurous type, eh?" The bartender gave a laugh after this. "I don't see a gun with you. How you gonna hunt them?"

"I'm not." Remendo switched back to the aguardiente and pounded a shot. "If I get into an altercation, I'll use my hands and hope for the best."

"A survivalist then?"

"A death wish." Remendo then finally pushed the shot glass away from him and drank the strong alcohol straight from the bottle and made sure he felt the sweet burn.

"Listen," the bartender said after a long pause. "I don't usually give out advice, but why would you want to die in such a terrible fashion?"

Remendo held his arm out and looked into the clear bottle filled with clear liquid. "Because nothing else has worked."

Before the bartender could respond to such a gruesome man, a second stranger entered with the widest smile one could imagine. This was a very svelte man who had a very expensive taste in clothing. He wore a vibrant purple naval uniform adorned with many medals that must have been won in some sort of war. No country of origin could be deduced, but none the less it looked very important. He then yelled something that only Remendo could understand: "Give me a bottle of vodka!" It sounded vaguely Russian, but that only mattered to him. The man said it again a bit louder if it was possible.

"This is Spain, if you haven't realized it yet," Remendo replied in the new man's native tongue. "No one can understand you."

"You can," the new man responded. "That's got to count for something."

"Not in the land of giant windmills."

"Well here, tell him I want a shot of vodka." The man used various hand gestures to try and convey his thirst.

"Tried earlier. Barkeep can't stand the stuff so he doesn't keep it around."

The man looked confused. "He said that?"

"No," Remendo responded. "But I figured when he said, 'We don't serve Baltic ass-drippings around here' that that is what he meant."

"Ah." The man's smile started to fade, but not even to its half point. "Well what's the strongest thing they've got in this hole?"

Remendo sighed. "I'll ask, but he'll probably want your name."

The man stood up and bowed as he said, "Kontr-Admiral Bohdan Pushkar. And yourself?"

"Remendo."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Well then, Remendo, help me get my whistle wet."

Remendo turned to the bartender and said, "Mr. Pushkar here would like to know what your strongest drink is." The barkeep pointed to the bottle Remendo himself almost drained. "Then what's the second strongest?"

"Does the man have money?"

Remendo turned back to Pushkar. "Do you have some form of money?"

"But of course, my large friend!" Bohdan proceeded to extract a large pouch of Pieces of Eight. "I would not travel without carrying some sort of bounty."

"I think I've got just the thing." The barkeep pulled out a glistening green bottle without a label.

Remendo had a confused look on his face. "What is this?"

"Some strong shit." The barkeep smiled.

Remendo turned around to the thin officer. "It's all yours."

"And what do I owe the man?"

Remendo and the bartender turned to each other and back to Bohdan. "Seventeen Spanish dollars."

"For a single shot?!" There was no smile on Pushkar's face.

"No," Remendo replied. "For the bottle."

"Ah! Then I except your offer," Bohdan said and slammed down the seventeen eight-real coin.

The bartender took the money and handed him the glass the large man had drank out of earlier.

Bohdan Pushkar then turned to the other guests to this establishment. There were only four other patrons: a whore and a potential client, an aging farmer whose wife was the loudest person in creation, and last, but most noticeable, an old maid that missed her boat. She looked only twenty nine, but it was enough. All the men in the town were either already married or too young to make a proper husband. She had one of the German beers the barkeep had mentioned earlier and it looked like it wasn't her first. Perfect. He walked over to the table with the damsel and sat down.

"She doesn't speak Russian," Remendo reminded him without moving from the bar.

"It's Ukrainian, you lummox!" the offended Kontr-Admiral told him. He then turned back to the lady with his smile plastered back on and spoke in perfect Spanish, "Sorry about the interruption, Madame. I am Kontr-Admiral Bohdan Pushkar and am interested in your company."

"Hang on." Remendo stood up and turned to his deceiver. "You speak Spanish and you had me be your middle man? Why?"

"Because," said Pushkar as he reverted back to his native tongue. "I needed to know if the people here were trustworthy, and you passed." Remendo sighed and turned back to his bottle of aguardiente. "I am a little put off by your refusal to share that grand liquor, but I understand. You've been sucking it down and I'd probably do the same if I were in that seat."

"Tricky bastard," Remendo whispered.

"So." Pushkar spoke to the lady again. "May I ask your name?"

"If you want the prostitute, she's preoccupied at the moment, but I'm sure she'll be with you soon," the woman said. "Miguel has no money after he bought the pig, and as soon as she finds that out-" At that moment Rosa the whore slapped Miguel the farm boy and left the bar. The woman turned back to Pushkar. "She's all yours," she said and took another swig of beer.

"I am not interested in the company of a whore," Bohdan responded. "I am, however, interested in the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself."

"And why would you want that?"

"Because I have heard of the passionate nature of Spanish women and wish to merely sample such a dish."

"So you do want a whore." She looked back at her beer. "Or a meal. You use your romantic metaphors too liberally." She took a swig.

"May I at least gain the knowledge of your name?"

After a hesitant pause she stated, "Armida."

"Does that come with a last name?"

"You're going to have to push harder than that for it."

"Then that shall be my goal for the night." Bohdan pushed his chest out and sat down with a great sense of pride.

Armida smiled for the first time in a month. Remendo took another shot of his "World Famous Father Rodriguez's Devil Spit" and shook his head in disbelief.


	3. The Boat Story

Remendo took a swig of the second wine bottle as the grand annoyance continued to jabber away to the lovely señorita.

"Would you like to hear the tale of how I got this bar?" Bohdan said pointing at a rectangular piece of metal painted green on his chest.

"Not particularly," Armida surprised him. "I'd rather hear about…" She searched the many awards he so proudly displayed for one that she recognized. Armida could not find one, so she instead poked her forefinger at a brass badge that was roughly in the shape of a chicken's foot print and held up by a red piece of cloth. "This one."

"A fine choice indeed, Madame." Pushkar ran his right hand through his long red hair and grasped it at the base of his head, deciding to pull it into a neatly done ponytail rather than let it hang in his face all night. A curtain on either side still remained, but that was fine. He liked the way it framed his face. "It was when I was with the fifth armada defending against the Muslims."

"The Muslims have boats?"

"Of course, they must travel somehow." Bohdan shooed the idea aside and with great enthusiasm, continued his story, making sure to add any sound effect or gesture he could.

"Anyway, so I'm at the rear of the fleet, ready to charge if attackers are spotted in the distance, when all of a sudden, I hear a sound like lightning chopping down a forest. I turn to my left and what do I see? It's Kapitan Leytenant Czyz firing at my ship! I have a boy yell over to check if it was a misfire, and he shoots at me again. Takes the boy's-" He paused. "Would you rather I leave out any of the gruesome details?"

"I would very much appreciate that," responded the Spanish beauty before him.

"Alright then, let me continue." The Kontr-Admiral seemed disappointed and repositioned himself to more properly tell his tale. "I lost some of my men in the carnage of the second cannon shot. It was not an accident. I tried to signal the Admiral at the center of the formation, but he was unresponsive for a reason that was a miss to me at the time. Later I'd learn my commanding officer was having himself a nice little nap, something he'd be court marshaled for afterward. With my ship being blown to pieces, I did the only thing a reasonable man of my stature would do."

Bohdan took a long pause as if Armida was about to fill in the next blank. Instead she took a sip of her beer and gave him a questioning look. "…Which was?"

"I first told my crew to fire upon Kapitan Leytenant Czyz's ship. A few of our cannons connected to their targets, but after a few blasts, something was amiss. The cannons had stopped firing."

"Ran out of cannons?" Armida interrupted.

The look on Pushkar's face was one of repressed anger. "Yes, that's what happened, but there's more." He tried to return to his usual grinning self, but that anger underneath was inescapable. "Czyz had stolen most of them for his own ship, as he had done with most of the others. That's why I didn't receive the help I was expecting from the fifth armada. So seizing the fact that mine was the closest ship to his, I grabbed a rope and shouted for my men to follow my lead. And then-"

"You swung across to the other man's boat." Armida took another swig of her beer only to find out the bottle was empty. She checked her pockets for a few real-coin, of which she had one. Beer cost three. "Do you happen to have any more in that bag you presented earlier?"

"I do," the gentleman stated. "But the real question is this: did you really want to know what happened or do you find this story predictable?"

Armida was caught off guard. "Oh no, I love the story. It sounds like something out of a high adventure book. The only reason I find it so predictable is because I've heard fantastic stories like this all my life, but it's nice to hear that things like that can actually happen. I'm sorry if I offended you."

Bohdan gave a self-important smile and then said, "Not at all, madam. I merely wish you the greatest enjoyment a woman could have."

"Then continue your story and buy me another of these if Indigo has anymore." She waggled her empty bottle as an example.

"So you wish it, so it shall come true." Pushkar made a grand gesture and got back up to the bar.

Armida put her head in her hands and wipe the drowsiness from her face. He was attractive enough, but this was all just another show by a horny man wishing to expand his conquests. She wasn't having any of it, but at least she could get a few drinks out of him.

And bring them he did. "So, where were we?"

"You had valiantly swung off your own boat in order to take the traitorous Kapitan Leytenant Czyz's ship," Armida replied, now feigning interest so that her true colors weren't seen.

"Ah yes, the rope." Bohdan resituated himself in order to tell the story more effectively. "So I swing across, pistol on my belt, sword in my hand and fight my way through the men following Czyz's orders. A few of my men jumped alongside me, like the good sailors they were, and ventured into the fray. Limbs were severed, blood was spilled- You didn't want to hear about the gore did you?"

Armida tipped her bottle towards him as if tipping her hat. "I am not one for tales based purely on violence."

"As is to be expected of a lady." Pushkar's hand made a wide sweeping gesture and his smile was intact. "So four of my men and I battle our way through the ship's ranks, felling the ones who turned their backs on the Great Armada, until finally, Admiral Hresko had seen our situation and rallied the other ships around his. Kapitan Leytenant Czyz surrendered to my blade, and for my valor, I was given this." He held up the badge with much pride. "So," he continued, "is this sufficient work to learn your full title?"

Armida looked him over and pulled a name out of thin air. "Guiterrez."

"Armida Guiterrez?" The lavishly narcissistic man rolled the name around his head for a few moments and then returned to reality. "What a lovely name." His smile was wider than it had been all night. Then a thought crept into his head. Nothing had truly crept into him since his arrival, but this was a strange nagging thought that was visible to anyone who was particularly paying attention to him in the bar. The only such people were Armida and Remendo. The thought twisted inside him, poking him with a thousand hot needles until he finally expressed his concern: "What time is it?"

Remendo was relieved. "It's around eleven or so."

Kontr-Admiral Bohdan Pushkar looked back at the hulking man with an angered look on his face. "Were any of my words directed at you?"

"Your words weren't directed at anyone at all."

The apparent naval commander wore rage, but did not truly express it. "That is beside the point." He turned back to Armida with his grin slapped back on his face. "I'd say it's getting fairly late, wouldn't you?"

Armida knew where this was going, but let the pompous red-head think he had this in the bag. "Very late. I think I should be getting home." She knew she should have become an actress.

"Here, let me escort you back to your residence." All of his teeth were visible at this point. "A woman with such a high caliber of beauty should not wonder such streets alone at such a late hour."

"Then I accept your offer to take me to such a place," she mocked him.

He paid it no mind and stood up, leading the lady out the door with his arm in hers.

Remendo rolled his eyes. He then polished off the bottle of hard liquor and resisted the urge to smash the glass into a million tiny pieces in his hand. The pain was just as persistent as the flames had been, but at least it was dulled for the moment. But with the release however soft came that familiar deception that all men who regularly enjoy such activities experience.

The barkeep looked back at him. "I think you've had enough. Need a room?"

Remendo looked around him. His vision was blurred, but he could still make out that he was the last person to be left in the bar. "Possibly." Remendo got up and stumbled a bit. "I'm just going to make sure my legs still work." With that, he took any step he could manage towards the door and exited the establishment he had spent all day drinking in. The town was dark. No lights were on but the ones God had put there himself. The moon felt larger than it normally was, but that could just be the Devil Spit talking. The large man wobbled around, earth rocking beneath him and leaned against a tree. A red liquid poured out of his mouth in a heaving fashion all over the ground. Should have expected this. He wiped his mouth and tried to stabilize himself once more. Remendo took off his hat to feel any sort of breeze there might have been.

And then he heard the scream of a woman.


	4. The Effects of Alcohol on Heroism

God damn it. Remendo knew who that was, without even having to think about the tone of her voice. The girl from the bar. Armida. She must have done something that pompous officer didn't like. Something only a madman would find offensive. He should help. "Should" being the word of the day. He "should" have kept going. He "should" have left earlier. He "should" not have even been in Spain. But he was, and he didn't, and she sounded like she was hurting bad. Drunk or not, he had to do something. With a great mind had come a great respect for life and this had gotten him into trouble before.

The world seemed against him as he stumbled the dirt path towards the sound of screaming. He fell over again and again, but crawled his way back up every time. The screaming got louder, which could have been a good or bad thing. Remendo didn't want to think about it. He just had to get to her. His gloves were filthy and holes had started to appear again. It would be some time before he could replace them. He shook the superficial thought from his head and continued onward, crawling on his hands and knees if he had to.

And then it stopped.

Her screams, they stopped. Abrupt and without warning, what was once a banshee's call was replaced by the sound of a stare. Not good. Remendo just kept running in the same direction, hoping that he'd had the correct path to start with. But the world kept turning like a ballerina with brain damage without Remendo's consent, and it didn't help that all the houses looked alike. So, he stumbled onward with only hope keeping him going.

Hope, as it turns out, is not the greatest thing to rely on in the dead of night. After the ninth wall Remendo had to lean upon, he sat down and gave up the search. He didn't know how long he had been out, but his steps seemed to be a bit more grounded. Maybe an hour, hour 'n' a half. He was too tired to think about it. Running after being awake for nineteen hours and resisting the urge to pass out will do that to you. As his vision faded, a figure with shining white circles on his face walked towards Remendo.

"Sleep, my good friend. Sleep and may every wish be granted." The figure walked off with a psychotic laugh and Remendo finally said goodbye to the material world for now.

When his mind finally decided to make itself part of reality again, the sun was out and felt closer than it had in years. It wasn't helping that Father Rodriguez himself was pounding away at the inside of his skull along with the people who made the wine from the other day. Slowly he stood up, being sure not to make any sudden movements or vomit. Remendo turned around to rest his head on the wall. It was cool and felt good against his forehead. He rolled back over to start his walk. Unfortunately, he rolled into a large window and fell through the wooden cross meant to keep things like this from happening.

There was no glass pane, so there were no shards to tear up Remendo's already rough flesh. His hat had fallen off and drifted somewhere on the ground. After a grunt and a pause, the large man wearily got up and searched for his hat. The floor was dusty, but understandably so for one who's windows were only to let the light in. Slowly scrambling across the floor, he caught up with his hat at the base of a chair. In the chair there was a woman. On the woman was a look of absolute fear. It was the woman from the other night. The one called Armida.

Remendo tried to use his words properly. "Are you okay?" is what he meant to say in clear Spanish, but ended up butchering the syllables to the point where not even he knew what it sounded like. After a bit of swallowing spit and making sure his tongue was still in working order, he asked again. No response. She was staring straight at him. He should have gotten something, at least a "get out of my house". And that's when he remembered his hat was still on the ground.

Remendo's face was exposed.


End file.
